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Verrin stepped forward, boots crunching against the gravel, his voice slicing through the lingering chatter.
“Sparrow. What was that?” he snapped. “You jumped into something that had nothing to do with you—again.”
Sparrow’s smile faltered. “I didn’t think it was a big deal—”
“That’s the problem,” Verrin cut in. “You never think. You just leap in, mouth first, and expect everyone to play along.”
His jaw tightened. “You helped yourself to a conversation like it was yours. It wasn’t. Learn the difference.”Sparrow’s smile returned, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “The ritual used some of my essence. I was part of that conversation as much as anyone. The Ferryman opened the floor for everyone, not just the ones you handpicked.”
He tilted his head, studying Verrin. “Why are you so concerned over a few questions? What’s the harm if I had something to gain? No one lost anything, and I got closer to an answer I needed. Sounds like a win-win.”
His voice was calm—charming, calculated, like always.
“You helped bring the Ferryman here,” Verrin said coldly. “But it wasn’t your coin that paid the price. You had no right to speak.”
Sparrow’s retort came fast: “But you spoke after me. What gave you that right?”
Verrin looked away. Silence swelled between them.
“I couldn’t live with myself if I damned another,” he said quietly. “My wife would never forgive me.”
The crunch of gravel broke the moment as Verrin turned and walked away.
Sparrow’s gaze hardened. “We all have something we’d sacrifice anything for,” he called to Verrin’s back. “I’m no different. Whatever story you’ve made up in your head—I’m not the villain you think I am.”
He followed, quickening his pace.
“If something terrible happened to someone you loved, I want you to look me in the eye and say you wouldn’t do anything to make it right.” His voice cracked slightly. “That’s all I’m trying to do. Fix a wrong. Help someone who only ever tried to build a life for herself and her son.”
Sparrow’s words hung in the air—heavy, unresolved. A flicker of anger crossed his face, but deeper still was something else: desperation.
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